Rebirth and Resurrection
by WritingYourSocksOff
Summary: Zieg and Rose are resurrected after their death at the hand of Melbu Frahma. But the world has fallen into chaos once again. A benevolent dictator has taken over much of Endiness, but without their memories, stopping her will be difficult. Summary inside!
1. Disclaimer & Summary

**Disclaimer & Summary:**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Legend of Dragoon_. Any characters from the original videogame belong to Sony, and the rest from my imagination. Many of the ideas, themes, and back-story from the original game belong to Sony and I claim no ownership of them.

**Summary: **Zieg and Rose are resurrected with no memory of who or what they are. Worse than that, it's been another 11,000 years since Melbu Frahma became the God of Destruction and nearly destroyed the world. They are thrust into a world of chaos, where a benevolent dictator has taken over much of Endiness, obliterating the ideals of peace and freedom they fought for in the Dragon Campaign. They will need to recover their memories in order to save Endiness from not only a dictator, but a force perhaps even more powerful than they could even comprehend.


	2. Chapter I

**Chapter I: Rebirth and Resurrection**

The pungent smell of fresh earth is the first thing my senses register. The air is cool and somewhat damp, much like the dirt beneath me, and I lie still with my eyes closed, too weak to open them. My body aches, and even the simplest movement causes a mind-numbing pain to shoot through me, so I lie still for what must be hours until I manage to flex my fingers without too much resistance. As my senses become more alert, the searing pain that at first I had felt throughout my entire body diminishes to a dull throbbing in my right shoulder. But as I attempt to get up, the pain returns and my body screams in protest and my eyes water from the pain. It hurts, but certainly not as intensely as a few hours before. I tell myself that this is a good thing, but let my body fall back to the ground anyway and resist the urge to move. In this condition, I doubt pushing my body past its capacity will help me much, so instead I lie perfectly still and attempt to assess the damage to my body.

If anything were broken, I would certainly know it. The same goes for any internal injuries, as they would no doubt have me coughing up blood and retching. I'm able to move my legs and arms if I do it slowly, but my right shoulder still pains me when I move too quickly. Still, it's not broken, so that's something to be thankful for. Physically, I seem to be in all right shape, but I dare not move too suddenly for fear of igniting the blinding pain from earlier.

As I lie still with my eyes closed, there's very little to do but listen to the sounds all around me. The sounds of the forest engulf me and I almost feel overwhelmed; birds, rustling leaves, the subtle, practically inaudible sound of creaking bark. It all seems much louder than it ought to be, and my ears almost hurt from the loudness of it all. If I had to guess, I'd say the bird chirps were that of the common sparrow, but it sounds different than I remember. For some reason I can't explain, this alarms me more than being unable to move. Slowly, very slowly, I crack open my eyes, and even though the dense clumps of trees that surround me allow for little sunlight, the light that does shine through is almost blinding and I squint and resist the impulse to reach up and cover my eyes with my hand. Immediately my eyes begin to water, and I blink several times in an attempt to wash out the dirt in them.

I'm lying face down in a small, muddy clearing, surrounded by tall, dense trees. The light barely poking through the tip of the trees suggests that it is midday. The lack of available sunlight and the cool earth has made the small clearing quite chilly despite the time of day and I feel myself shudder slightly. My next instinct is to stand, but I fear the effort might kill me, so I take things slowly. First I flex my fingers, and when I encounter none of the burning pain from before, I spread my arms to my sides with little resistance. And then slowly, very slowly, I push myself off the ground and manage to get myself into a seated position.

Even this small effort winds me and I need to take a fairly long break before I manage to summon up the energy required to drag my disabled body over to a nearby rock. I lean against it and take deep breaths, exhausted. At least that simple movement didn't trigger any pain, and I hold dear to the hope that I will be able to stand and possibly walk soon. The only thing that I feel is my right shoulder, which throbs painfully every once in a while, but it's something I'm thankful for. It assures me that I'm alive.

My need to rest my body gives me time to think about how I got here, but to be honest, nothing surfaces. I try to think back on my life, but all I encounter is this overwhelming darkness, keeping me from my memories. I can feel something there though, some long lost memory at the back of my mind, wanting desperately to surface. It feels somewhat like an itch, but no matter how hard I concentrate, I cannot recall how I wound up in this small clearing, nor even any events previous to waking up here.

I'm frightened though. Terribly. Frightened that this itch may drive me insane, because even now it bothers me. I can feel it there, in the back of my mind, but it's no good trying to scratch it – I can't remember a thing. Not even my name or who I am. All I can remember of my life is waking up in this clearing, with no idea of who or what I am. Despite this, some part of me realizes that I'm in trouble and that this is not the time to be worrying about my identity. I can't explain it even to myself, but something in my mind triggers – survival instinct, perhaps? – and I realize that my first job is to establish that I'm all right, and then find somewhere safe until I have a more detailed idea of where I am.

So after a few more moments' rest, I look down at myself, intending to inspect my arms for wounds, and realize that I am completely naked. My fair, pale skin is broken in several places, and a thin trail of blood trickles from a cut on my wrist, but I notice no grave wounds on my upper body so I look to my legs. Those too are scraped in several places, but again there is no major damage. Though I don't quite remember, I manage to put two and two together and realize that I must have fallen from somewhere and broken the fall with my arms and legs. I look up, but the shortest tree is still fifty feet high. Surely if I had fallen from that high I would have broken something.

I lean my head against the rock again since supporting the weight of my head for too long is exhausting, and close my eyes to think. What do I do, with no idea of who I am? Where do I go from here? Not knowing frightens me. What else don't I know? What have I forgotten? As I sit there, I briefly recall how the sparrow's call didn't sound quite right to me. But I don't hear them now. In fact, I don't hear much of anything. The birds have gone and the wind has stopped and the clearing has suddenly gone eerily silent. Something inside of me tells me that this is not right. The air too is growing bitterly cold, and I look up at the sky to find it growing darker. Night is approaching, and I lie naked in a clearing. Desperately, I look around for some form of shelter and I see an outcropping of rock four feet to my right. It's a small cave – really I could barely fit in it if I lay in the fetal position – but it will provide much more shelter from the harsh wind that's begun to pick up than this stupid rock, so I crawl over to it and squeeze myself in. It's a huge effort, and by the time I make it to the tiny cave, I'm just about ready to pass out, but I push this thought out of my mind and snatch up some moss growing outside the cave and begin to cover myself with it. It won't do much, but it'll help keep me warm.

After about twenty minutes of this, I've managed to cover most of my body in the moss, as well as some fallen pine needles outside, and I do feel a little warmer, so I place my hands under my head and lie down to sleep, but somehow I know I won't be able to.

As I lie huddled, cramped in the small space, I look up towards the trees again and see them growing darker and darker. It is no longer midday, but night. I can't see the moon from my small cave, but its light shines through the clearing and gives it a sort of eternal-looking beauty. Suddenly I want to crawl out and bathe in the moonlight, but practicality stops me from doing so.

I lie still in the cave and wait for morning, afraid of what the night may bring me.

Water. It is the first coherent thought that enters my mind. I can feel it all around me. At first I feel it brushing lightly up against my toes, and then it subsides, only to return and engulf my entire body, and I swallow a good portion of the warm, salty water and cough it back up. It burns my throat and I feel myself close to vomiting, but I push it down. That is probably the last thing I need. I can hear the water when it subsides again, pulling back, and again as it crashes into some nearby rocks and consumes me once more. I open my eyes and instantly close them again as the blindly light from the midday sun burns me. I try again more slowly this time, and, bit by bit, I manage to open my eyes long enough to take in my immediate surroundings.

Sand. It is all I see before me. Coarse and rough looking, a light brown mixed with white seashells. The sand beneath my body is warm to the touch, and the warmth feels wonderful on my aching body. The rest of the landscape looks wildly unfamiliar, however. I can see tall, strange looking trees that I am certain I have never seen before. Their trunks are different, and the leaves are large, and drape down towards the ground. There are things which I can only call vines draping from almost every one of the unfamiliar trees, and the sounds coming from it are all completely foreign to me. I know instantly that whatever lies in those trees is something I want to avoid for now. That entire place speaks of terrible, hidden things; poisonous snakes, vicious animals and who knows what else – No. I am to avoid that place if I can.

It doesn't help either that those trees seem to be all there is in this foreign place.

The warm, salty water returns and I shut my eyes and mouth and wait for it to ebb. Eventually, it does and I know that the water will not bother me again for some time. It is only now that the water has stopped passing over me that I truly feel the pain coursing through my body. Sharp, throbbing pain in my head, and a dull ache in the rest of my body. I lie there for a few moments more and then force myself to sit up. It hurts, but not as much as I expected, so I manage to get myself into a sitting position and look around.

I am lying on a small beach, surrounded by the same tall, unfamiliar trees. To my right is a large cliff where the waves crash, and to my left is an endless coast. Ahead of me is just more of the same, those tall, dense and completely foreign trees.

I inspect my body to make sure that I am not wounded – my senses are not behaving as acutely as they normally would be – and am surprised to find that I am naked, with no recollection of how or why. Alarmed, I attempt to think back to my past, my childhood specifically, but perceive only a great blackness that I cannot make sense of.

Who am I? I wonder. What am I like?

The answers to these questions escape me, and I cannot seem to find a reason why. Desperate, I try to think of things that I know I should remember. Small, simple things, but I don't remember them. Not my name or where I was born or who my parents are. Though this is very abnormal and it does unsettle me, I am not unduly worried. Probably I have just hit my head and these things will come back to me in time. Yet I have a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that says I am forgetting something very crucial. Something that is very important to me.

I don't really have time to think on the subject, because movement in my peripheral vision causes me to snap my head to left, and I find myself staring into the depths of the unfamiliar forest, and I see two figures emerge, carrying spears that are pointed right at me.

They approach slowly, cautiously, and my instincts tell me that these people will not hesitate to kill if I give them a reason to. So I make the huge effort and stand up tall and straight, and while my body protests, my legs manage to support me well enough to stand my ground. If it comes to a fight though, I have no reservations about who will win.

The two figures are closer now, only twenty yards away. The two men are dark-skinned and clad in simple clothes that are tattered and worn. The one closest to me appears to be younger – no more than sixteen or seventeen – while the other looks closer to thirty. The younger man wears only a pair of pants that go just past his knees, and the ends of them are ripped and torn, while the older man wears a simple cloth shirt, also very worn, and an orange vest over top, with simple pants. Each grips their spear tightly, and a gut feeling tells me this indicates that they are both very experienced with their weapons.

The two are talking in hushed tones and it appears that something is decided between them and the older man steps forward cautiously. He still grips his spear tightly and has it angled towards me, but his stance says that he is not ready to be aggressive just yet. Behind him, the younger man stands straight, his eyes fixed straight at me, unforgiving.

The older man is six feet away now and I slowly raise my hands above my head, indicating that I mean him no harm. The man nods to acknowledge that he understands, and I can only assume that he doesn't speak English, but I ask anyway.

"Do you speak English?" I say slowly.

He hesitates as if he is trying to work out what I've said and then he says in a broken accent that I can barely understand, "No English."

Well, that figures. I stand still, my hands still above my head, while I try and figure out my next move. I'm distracted though, because he's asking me something in a strange language I don't understand. I'm thrown off immediately by the deep, guttural sounds he is making, mixed with the same accent as before. He stops when he sees that I don't understand him.

For a moment he looks me up and down and appears to be considering something, then he takes off the orange vest he's wearing and hands it to me. I hesitate and he waves it at me impatiently until I take it and pull it on. Then he digs through a bag and pulls out a very dirty pair of pants and hands them to me as well. They're not very comfortable, particularly on my groin area, but it's better than being stark naked. He looks me over again and nods in what I think is supposed to be approval and says, "Come."

He nods his head towards the dense forest of strange trees and I point that way and start walking, unsure if that's what he meant. When he nods, I understand that he wants me to walk that way, and so I do, taking slow, deliberate steps so as not to alarm him. He takes up point behind me, and though I can't see him, I know that his spear is still raised, ready to pierce my body if I try to run or attack. As we approach the younger man – although now that I see him up close, he is really more of a boy – the man says something to him in his language and the older man switches places and takes the front while the boy takes the back, and they lead me deep into the forest.

5


	3. Chapter II

**Chapter II: Rouge**

I was right about this place. We've barely been walking ten minutes and I've already caught glimpses of a very large snake and some furry little creature that hops around in the trees who appear to be docile until they bare their razor sharp fangs at you. Despite the dangers, these men seem to know what they're doing and I'm sure they know their way around this place, but I'm worried about where these men are taking me. I have no idea where I am, but from what I've seen of these two already, they're a savage-looking people, and the thought of some strange ritual sacrifice enters my mind.

The man in front of me winds his way in between the trees and rocks at what seems to be a random, very roundabout way to wherever we're going. But when we loop around a clump of trees and climb over a small cliff and I see a den of savage looking cat-like things below us, I stop questioning him.

It's a long trek though, and after a few hours, he stops to rest and sits down on a rock, motioning for me to sit opposite him. It doesn't escape my notice that the man's spear is only an arm's length away from him, and I don't doubt that he could grab it and spear me before I could get away. In any case, I'm in no shape to be running anywhere. I'd been able to stand well enough before, but the arduous trek through the harsh terrain has exhausted me, and without anything to protect them, the bottoms of my feet are raw and bloody.

I sit down on the offered rock and examine my feet carefully, picking out small chunks of rocks in them. It doesn't hurt too badly, but I don't want to be walking much farther. The boy watches me out of the corner of his eye curiously, and says something to the older man in his language that sounds like a question. The man laughs and shakes his head, glancing over at me fretting over my feet. With a curt nod, the boy stands and wanders off into the jungle.

I stare after him until he disappears from sight, and then turn to the older man. "Where is he going?" The man stares at me, his expression unchanged. It looks as if he is trying to make sense of something, but I doubt it's my words. "Where is he going?" I repeat, slower this time. I nod towards the place where he disappeared to make sure he understands me.

"Pla-ant," he says slowly, struggling with the word. He must seem to get that I don't understand, so he repeats the word and nods towards my feet. I don't understand how a plant has anything to do with my feet, and I say as much, but he either doesn't understand or ignores me and starts rummaging through a small pack strapped around his shoulder. After a moment, he pulls out a strange looking thing that I think is supposed to be food. It's curved and yellow, and I'm sure I've never seen it before. He holds it out to me, but I just stare at it, unsure of what to do.

"What is it?" I ask him.

He seems to be looking for the right word before he answers. "Ba…nana."

"Boo-nana?"

He shakes his head. "Ba-na-na," he says slowly, nodding his head at each syllable. It helps me to understand him through his accent, though.

"Banana," I repeat. "That's the English?"

He nods. "English, yes. Hoo-ana," he says, and then points to himself. I take it that "hoo-ana" means the same thing in his language. He holds the _banana_ out to me again and starts brandishing it at me impatiently like he did with the clothes until I take it and hold it out, examining it. The outside is smooth, and I am just figuring out how to eat it (or if it's even edible at all) when the man gets impatient again and raises his hands to his mouth and mimes eating.

I point at the strange yellow thing in my hand, trying to ask if I'm supposed to eat it as is. He shakes his head and pulls out another from his pack and cracks the top of it and starts to peel it. Underneath is a paler sort of thing. It looks sort of stringy, I guess, but he takes a bite out of it, so I at least know it's safe to eat. I imitate what he did to crack it open – grabbing the small stem at the top and pulling – and peel it. I hesitate before taking a bite and look over at the man to be sure, but he just smiles toothlessly and nods, so I take a small bite out of the top.

I'm uncertain how to describe the taste, and the texture is oddly mushy, but it's not bad, and now that I've started eating, I'm beginning to realize just how hungry I am, so I eat the rest of it and he tosses me another one, which I eat in seconds as well. I'm just finishing off the last of the bananas when the boy returns carrying some leaves in his hand. I don't know what they are, but he begins to approach me and I instinctively try and back away.

"No, no," says the older man quickly. He hesitates on his next words, and they're very broken, but I do manage to make sense of them. "They will… help."

Help what? I wonder.

My question must be evident on my face because he points at my bleeding feet and I crawl back towards the boy carefully and extend my right foot. He is cautious as well, like I'm a cornered animal and he doesn't know if I'll lash out or not, but the older man nods his assurance when the boy looks his way and he shoves two of the leaves in his mouth and chews them quickly. After a minute's chewing, he spits the wet glob of leaves onto his hand and carefully presses it to my aching foot. The relief is instantaneous, although it stings a little bit. But once that's gone, the pain in my feet has gone away almost completely. The boy is rubbing it in until my skin has absorbed most of it. The rest he rubs off of his hands on a nearby tree and does the same to my other foot.

When he's done he steps back and watches as I grab my right foot and turn it over so I can see. Most of the blood is still there, but under that I can see that the cuts are clean and already beginning to scab over. The scabs will break when I'm walking again, no doubt, but my feet are in far better condition than they were before. I grin and look up at the boy, who seems a little alarmed at my reaction. I can see his right hand twitching in the direction of his spear, leaning against a large rock two feet away.

Attempting to reassure him, I smile in a way that I try to make comforting, but I'm not sure if I pull it off and say, "Thank you." I know he doesn't understand me, so I bow my head a little bit and look up to see him nod slightly and back away to sit against the rock with his spear, watching me carefully.

We sit and rest for another half hour, most of which is taken up by the two of them talking in their native language while I just look around and try and take in everything around me. The creatures around seem strange to me, although I can't remember anything other than this place, so perhaps this is an odd thought to be having. As I think about it, I realize that I am actually beginning to worry about my memory. Nothing has resurfaced, and I still don't know anything about myself or even how I got here.

At least there is something comforting about this place, despite its foreign nature to me. The sounds around me – mostly of animals I'll probably never be able to fully identify – is somewhat soothing, and I find myself almost at peace here. The place of hidden things, of quick deaths and unknown dangers, surrounds me and still frightens me, but somehow I know that these two will see me through it safely. What happens after that, I'm not sure, but after the kindness they've showed me, I'm a little more confident that I won't be sacrificed or locked up. We can barely understand one another, and yet they have shown me kindness, and I think in a strange way they're beginning to trust me.

My thoughts are interrupted by the older man approaching me. "Go," he says, pointing into the distance.

"Yes," I say nodding. The two of them pick up their things and are about to start walking when the older man pauses and begins going through his pack again. He pulls out two thin pieces of… animal skin, I think, with rope binding them at the top and hands them to me. I take them, holding them up close to my face, and examine them. Unsure, I take one in each hand, wearing them almost like gloves, and hold them out towards him with a kind of shrug, but he just laughs and points down towards his feet, and I see that he is wearing an identical pair that are meant to protect him from the rough ground.

"Oh," I say with a chuckle. "Shoes."

We have only been walking another few hours when the man up ahead points forward with a smile and says something excitedly to the boy, who responds in kind with as much enthusiasm. We quicken our pace, and I'm not entirely sure why until I look ahead and see a hint of sand poking out through the clump of trees ahead. So we're out of this place then. I have to admit I'm relieved. Even with the shoes, the scabs on my feet have broken open and begun to bleed. It hurts, but not as much as before. But either way, I'm glad that we're done walking. I look down at my feet to see that the shoes I'd been given are stained red, and I'm afraid I've ruined them.

I struggle to keep up with their pace, but we reach the rough sand in only a few short minutes and I have to cover my eyes with my hand to block out the blinding sun. Once I've adjusted, I'm able to squint and look around.

It doesn't look much different from the beach where they found me. To my right is more of the tall trees – they seem to stretch for miles, and I can only guess as to how big that forest is – and on my left is the same coastline as before. The tide appears to have returned and we're close enough to the coast that the tip of the waves washes over my toes. The salt in the water stings the wounds on my feet at first, but after a while they begin to feel better.

The older man is talking now and pointing to somewhere far off in the distance. I look that way and am just able to make out what looks like a village on the coastline. We head towards it, and as we get closer I get a better idea of what I'm headed into. The village lies along the coast, surrounded by a high wooden wall. The village is small, but I'd guess that it could hold a population over at least two-thousand. There's a small, make-shift gate that we enter, and the same wall I'd noticed from farther away seems taller than I would have thought. It looks like it stretches all around the village, but it's made mostly of the logs of trees tied together with what looks like the vines I saw earlier. It's sturdy looking enough, though.

We're stopped at the gate by two guards who exchange a few words with the older man before we're let through. I can only imagine what was said, but somehow I get the feeling that I am not entirely welcome here.

Inside the wall are small huts dotted about the coastline. As I walk further in, I see a lot of dead animals hanging outside huts and I guess that most of their culture is absorbed in hunting. But further in, closer to the large dock, I notice ships and men unloading crates, so maybe they do a bit of fishing and trading, too.

In the center of town is what appears to be the main building. It's busy with people walking in and out of it, and all around the outside of its walls are stalls and people talking and trading. It's roughly constructed with the same trees, but like the wall outside, appears sturdy. There are all kinds of ladders from what I can see on the upper floors outside and I can only assume that there are many different floors to this place. At the bottom is the dock. It's filled mostly with small fishing boats, but there's one large schooner docked and another equally large ship where the crates are being unloaded from.

Once I get over looking around at the village itself, I begin to notice its people. It's immediately evident to me that my previous thought about the people here being savage was wrong. Most of them are clothed, and are talking amicably with each other. The town looks like a buzzing, social town. I see them playing board games, and trading while the children play in the square outside the center of town. No sacrificial altars or prison quarters, which is definitely a good sign.

I hadn't noticed before, but many of the people we pass are staring at me. Some are pointing and talking to one another, but most just stare. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. It's not a hostile stare, in fact it appears almost friendly, and someone in the crowd even smiles and waves, but I can tell that I am not expected.

We stop at a large doorway into the main building as the older man speaks quickly with the two guards outside, who nod after a moment's conversation and step aside, allowing us to enter.

Inside is the dock, which is thriving with activity. I notice that by the large ship unloading the crates are men with white skin, like myself, so perhaps I am not as unexpected as I had previously thought. I'm not led over to them, though. Instead we climb up a couple sets of ladders and walk through a hallway.

This seems to be a very different setting now. The walls, while made of the same wood, are polished and chiseled. Intricate designs are carved here, and on the whole the place looks rather impressive. It's a large building though, and we have to walk up three more ladders before we get to the desired floor.

We take a couple more turns down the hallway until we come to a large, ornate door and stop outside of it. The man turns to me like he wants to say something. After a moment, he points at me and says, "Telzar." He nods towards the door behind him once.

"I'm going to meet…Telzar?"

"Yes."

The man says something to the boy, who responds angrily. After a short exchange, the boy seems to agree with whatever he is being told and the man opens the door and ushers me in. The boy stands outside with his arms crossed, glaring.

The door shuts behind me and my guide sidles off to a corner and stands silent, not looking at me. I'm standing in the center of a large, brightly lit room. The sunlight outside streams in through the large window in front of me. Most of the room is taken up by a collection of large bookshelves, stuffed full with all books and odd instruments I can't really identify. There's a desk in front of me and a man sits in the chair there, bent over what looks like a map. Beside him, pouring over the map as well is another man with white skin. He's dressed well, and a rapier hangs at his side. Both men ignore the interruption and continue speaking.

"… went down here, a few miles off the coast," says the standing man with the rapier, pointing at a spot on the map. "Behind the rocks."

"Survivors?" says the other man, not tearing his eyes away from the map.

The white man shakes his head. "None that we could find. Only floating debris and corpses, if you can call them that. We only really found pieces of men. Imperial troops were very through in their execution."

The sitting man sighs deeply and ruffles his hair, folding up the map neatly and tucking it into his drawer. He still doesn't look at anyone, but instead stares very intently at his desk, tapping his fingers. "Where is the Imperial ship now?"

"We're not sure. It seems to have disappeared."

I can see the man at the desk bite the inside of his cheek as he thinks this through.

"Telzar," says the white man carefully. "They wouldn't have attacked if they weren't certain. It was a rebel ship, many of the crew were those of Rouge. This village has never been directly affiliated with the Rebellion, and so she has let it go, but now I fear for the safety of Rouge. Within a week, Imperial troops will start landing on the beach and occupy Rouge if you're lucky, but more likely, they'll kill everyone."

The man called Telzar massages his forehead while the other man continues speaking.

"I'm here to inform you of the situation and offer you and any who wish to accompany us safe passage to Northglen. We can fit most of Rouge's population onboard my ship and another is due to arrive tomorrow evening for the rest of you."

"And what will we do, Belthas?" snaps Telzar, looking up at the other man for the first time. "My people have been here for thousands of years, it is all we know."

"Telzar, there won't be anything here but death and suffering! You _know_ this! You know how the Queen works."

Telzar sighs again and looks at me. Immediately his eyes narrow. He is dark-skinned like everyone else here, but his eyes are green rather than brown, like most of the people I've encountered here. He's large. Very. And his face is hard and stern as he looks me. "And who are you?"

The question throws me. Who am I? How can I explain, how can I answer the question when I don't even know?

"Speak quickly!" he says curtly. "As you might have overheard, I have a lot to deal with at the moment. What is your name?"

I hesitate again. I don't know my name. I concentrate hard, struggling to work through the darkness that engulfs my mind, my memories, but I can recall nothing. "I don't know," I say honestly. "I don't remember anything."

Before Telzar can reply, the man in the corner steps forward and begins speaking rapidly in his language. After a few curt replies, Telzar nods and indicates for the man to step back, which he does.

"You remember nothing?" he says harshly. I shake my head. "… Very well. Do you recognize him Belthas?"

The other man, Belthas, turns to look at me. He is light-skinned with long blonde hair that reaches his shoulders. He has a long scar that stretches from the top of the right side of his forehead to the left side of his jaw. He examines me from top to bottom and shakes his head. "I cannot honestly say that I am familiar with everyone's face in the Rebellion, but no, I don't recognize him."

"Mmm," is all Telzar says as a reply. "Very well. Hatall," he says, turning to the man in the corner, "see that he is given lodgings. And have my wife tend to his injuries."

The man named Hatall bows his head and gestures for me to follow him out the door, and I do without hesitation. I barely have enough time to turn around and catch sight of Telzar's suspicious glare before the door is shut behind me.

6


	4. Chapter III

The decrepit barn on the outside of town could does little against the chilling winds that blow throughout the night. The holes made by hungry termites are dotted about the structure, letting in the howling winds that nip at my exposed body. I huddle close to the cloak I stole from one of the farms along the road, doing my best to keep warm but to no avail, it was meant for a woman far smaller than I, perhaps even a small child. I didn't know what season it was, nor what the weather here was normally like, but my best guess was that it was approaching the winter months. Snow had yet to litter the ground, but the trees were all barren, and I had had difficulty keeping quiet along the road with all of the dead leaves that crumpled under my feet.

The building itself was more akin to a shack than a barn, housing little more than a few empty crates and some common gardening tools.

Still, this place was adequate enough for the night's rest. The village before me was too occupied and busy for me to easily sneak in unnoticed. Besides, I had little money for a place to stay – the stolen cloak yielded little more than two coins – so until such a time came where I could acquire some of this land's currency, this place would do. The shack was isolated enough, and the accompanying house was a good mile away, so I expected no visitors until the early morning, when I'd be long gone from here.

But where to? That I didn't really know. Through some quick investigating of the town ahead I'd learned that its name was New Hoax, within the country of Serdio, but that meant little to me. It seemed as good a place as any to start out, but I had no idea what I was looking for, or even who I was.

The whole ordeal was very confusing. What is there for me to strive towards when I don't know who I am or what I want? Merely thinking about it cast my head in circles, so I eventually gave up and tried to succumb to exhaustion.

The bitter cold and howling wind made sleep very difficult that night. I'm uncertain of how long it took me to actually fall asleep, but when I awoke, it was to the sounds of screams in the distance.

I cannot explain, but those screams awoke something within me that moment. I bolt upright and race towards the barn door, throwing them open with a strength I had not thought myself to possess. The sounds of screams, of a battle raging in the distance, sound familiar to my ears. Familiar, and almost comforting, as if I belonged with that sound. Almost as though a significant portion of my life involved the sounds of screams. The thought terrified me.

What I beheld in the distance, though, didn't terrify me. The village ahead, New Hoax, was under attack. The buildings closest to me – along the Eastern Gate – were burning, and even in the dark I could make out the figures of frightened women and children running from the flames, pursued by heavily armoured men with swords and shields. The screams of women and children pierced my ears and I could think of only one thing: I have heard this before.

The attacking army seemed to be approaching from all fronts, and they had obviously infiltrated the town's walls, as I could see small skirmishes between the two forces atop the walls even from here.

Without further thought, I push myself forward and run full-tilt towards the village. I run through the forest ahead, darting around trees and bushes with hast, earning myself a gash across my cheek from a low-hanging branch. As I ran, I heard a small gasp from beside me and I turn and see a woman huddled behind a large rock with three small, frightened children, who are all staring directly at me, their eyes wide with fear. I could only imagine what I looked like – rugged, worn-out and stern-faced. Was I truly so frightening?

"Please," whispers the woman, shielding her children with outstretched arms. "These are my only children, please do not hurt them, hurt me instead, please!"

The fear in the woman's voice unnerves me. Did she think I was one of them? I took one small step forward, my hand outstretched cautiously.

"I mean you no harm," I say just as quietly as she. "Please, if you wish to keep your children safe, you must go further into the forest. The soldiers will scour the woods once the village is clear."

"You know this? How?"

_I don't know_, I think to myself. now more wary of myself than ever before. Who was I?

After a moment of silence the woman nods to herself and turns to her children, taking the smallest one's hand. "Come, we're going."

"But papa!" screams the youngest.

"Papa will find us in the forest!" she says with finality, giving me a quick glance. Even in the dark it was easy to find the tears in her eyes. I could only imagine why. No doubt the father had stayed to defend the village. She considered him dead already. I could only agree with her.

"You should hurry," I call to her as she backs away into the forest. "They will come soon."

She ushers her children into the bushes behind her and stops to turn towards me. "And what will you do? Will you fight them? Are you here to save us from the Imperials?"

"I don't know," I murmur, looking towards the burning village. "I suppose I will enter the village and search for survivors. Fight where I can."

The woman nods and turns away from me, whispering comforting words to the children about their father's swift, safe return, and disappears from my sight. I stand in the small clearing for a moment, fighting with myself.

My first instinct is to rush into the village and fight where I can, save who I can, and do all that needed to be done to save innocent lives, but I hesitated. What kind of person had I been to have a mind such as this? Cold and calculating, thinking about fighting and saving people. The woman here had not thought to save anyone more than her own family.

I turn towards the village, now completely wreathed in flames. The high wall that encircles it is thrumming with activity, mostly what appears to be what the woman had called Imperial soldiers taking control of the battlements. It would have a strategic advantage should an enemy force retaliate with their own army to have first secured the battlements and set up archers and guards, before moving further out of the city and searching the woods. Knowing that, I stick close to the edge of the forest to keep from being seen. I look up and see my chance just as the guard above turns to survey the chaos within the walls.

I quickly dash out from the cover of the trees and make for the wall, just reaching it's edge before the guard turns back around. Carefully, I creep along the edges of the wall, aware that even the slightest missed step could give me away to the guards above.

For about a mile I creep along the bottom of the wall, being careful to avoid any of the soldiers scouring the forest outside, until eventually I come to the East Gate. The guards all lie dead at my feet, and so I have no trouble getting in. As I step over the last crumpled body of the gate guard, I find myself in a small square. Corpses of many fill the square – villagers, soldiers from both sides, they were everywhere. Most of the houses along the sides were aflame, but most of the screams now came from outside the city. I assumed most of the villagers had already fled.

I make my way towards the center of the city where the rest of the fighting was likely taking place, leaning over a few dead soldiers to equip myself with a sword. For good measure I also take a bow and quiver from a dead soldier and slide both across my back, continuing to make my way cautiously to the center of the city. My instincts tell me that most of the casualties from here on out will be soldiers, and that most of them will be alert and waiting in ambush. My eyes scan each building and alleyway before advancing.

I turn a corner and a loud bang causes me to back up and dash back around the corner again. In my haste and surprise, I trip over the corpse of an Imperial soldier and fall to the ground. Cursing, I pick myself up off the ground. I get a good look at the insignia on the soldier's chest plate. A small, ornate sphere rests in the center of the armor. It's coloured a dark purple, a small slit in the center, appearing to almost be a vibrant, purple eye. It has a pair of wings akin to what I connect with a dragon's wings on each side of it, giving it an almost creepily angelic look. The symbol, or at least part of it, strikes a hard cord in my memory. I can feel myself almost remembering it's source, the beginnings of a memory clawing at the edges of my mind, seeking freedom.

Another loud bang comes from around the corner and I am struck from my reverie. I peek my head around the corner and am stunned by what I see.

In the center of town square is an entire squadron of defending troops, and one lone man. Even form here I can tell that he is garbed most elegantly and very skilled with his weapon, a large great sword that he wields with one hand. The strength required to lift it must be significant, but as I watch him fight off ten or so men, he swings it back and forth with obvious ease, a smile on his face.

I watch from afar as three of the soldiers charge him, swords raised, bellowing curses at him. The red-armored man waits until the last possible moment before lashing out with his sword, severing the leading man's sword hand and decapitating the second in one fluid movement. The third man manages to hold his own for a moment or two before the red-armored man stabs him through the gut, and decapitates the first soldier whose hand he had cut off moments before.

The remaining soldiers all look at each other and charge him at once. I count nine of them in total. As they move as one, the red-armoured man's smile merely widens. He spreads his arms wide and a great flash of light consumes him and the surrounding area. I myself, having been staring directly at it, am blinded for a few moments. I blink a couple times and manage to squint through the light to see something incredible.

The red-armoured man stands in the centre of the square, exactly where he stood a moment before, only he himself is not as he once appeared. His armour has morphed, intricate symbols woven throughout it. Upon his back rests two wings, identical to those on the insignia of the Imperial soldier that still lies dead beneath me. He flaps them once with finality, and surveys the square.

All nine of the attacking soldiers lie dead on the ground before him. Most are badly burned, some are still in flames. Even from here I can see that their armour is melting.

_How is it possible?_ I wonder. _Magic?_

And from somewhere within my body comes the answer – _yes_.

Everything about what I witnessed hurts my brain so much that I actually find myself gasping fro breath. Memories rage at the forefront of my mind, struggling to surface. In my mind's eye, I see a similar event.

A man, tall and handsome, lies on the ground, a hulking giant above him with a great axe, ready to kill him. I can hear myself speaking, but I know not if it is me saying the words out loud at this moment, or the power and strength of the memory I am being faced with.

"Awaken, Dragoon of the Red-Eyed Dragon!" I yell.

The man on the ground is engulfed in a similar brilliant red light, and the giant goes flying. At the same moment, I snap back to the present. I find myself gasping on the ground, having lost my balance with the strength of the memory. I've tumbled into the alley way, and I manage to get up just in time to see the man in red look at me and grin. Unthinkingly, I stand and begin making my way towards him, my grip tight on my sword. He stands his ground, his sword hanging loosely at his side.

"Who is this to challenge me now?" he calls to me, casually flicking a loose strand of long blonde hair out of his eyes and looking me up and down. "Can you not see the flaming corpses of the others, woman? Do you seek a similarly fiery death, or would you prefer to die at the tip of my sword?"

His words infuriate me, but I know enough not to let it get to me, and begin sizing up my opponent. He's bigger than me, much bigger. His sword is definitely made of sterner stuff than the standard issue I picked up from the Imperial at the entrance. I grip it tightly in my hands and point it towards him in a defensive position. From what I've seen so far, he has a fairly aggressive attack strategy, so I expect him to make the first move.

But he doesn't. He merely appraises me with an almost interested expression and stands there with his sword gripped loosely at his side. His long blonde hair, which reaches halfway down his hard, heavily-armoured torso, flows in the light breeze and seems to be alit by the harsh flames within the square. As I look into his pale blue eyes, I find him almost pretty – inhumanly so.

He looks at me and grins again, then snaps his fingers. Immediately, several dozen guards come out from the various entrances to the square and surround me, swords and shields raised. I back up without realizing and can sense a soldier behind me. He must have panicked and thought I was attacking him because before I can even turn I hear the soft whistle of a sword rushing through the air.

It isn't until the sword hits home and cleaves the man's skull in two that I realize the sword is mine. The man grunts, drops his weapon and falls to the ground in a heap.

I stand there in shock, staring down at the man whose life I just ended, trying to work through the emotions coursing through me. Anger, sadness, fear – was that remorse mixed in there too? I couldn't understand all of this. Part of me felt bad, but the other part demanded more, wanted more blood – to kill again. It scared me.

My entire internal struggle takes no more than half a second. For everyone else, I have just killed a man. I turn around, back towards the man in red, who can only be their leader, wide-eyed. He sees that I am confused, afraid even, of what I have done, and his brow furrows.

There is a hushed silence while everyone absorbs what happened, then –

"Not much of a rebel, are you?" calls the red-armoured man condescendingly. "I would kill you myself, but you're not worth my time. You there," he says, pointing to one of the soldiers to my right, "kill her. And quickly, too. I want to be done with this siege so we can move forward to Lohan."

The man he indicated nodded and stepped out of the circle of soldiers that now surrounded me. He stood in front of me, sword and shield raised and ready to fight, appearing frightened. I stared hard into his face, half obscured by the helmet, and saw a youth. No more than eighteen.

I could not kill this boy. Yet, he was ordered to kill me. It was life or death, wasn't it? Could I really bring myself to kill him?

I had no idea what I was capable of. I'd already killed one man. Whose to say I couldn't kill this boy?

The boy stepped forward, but maintained his distance from me. Without realizing, I see that I've already raised my own sword in defense.

_No!_ I scream inwardly. _No, I don't want to fight you!_

There is no way for the boy to know this, but still he does not step forward and initiate the fight. The leader huffs in impatience.

"Come on then, boy! We don't have all evening. Get on with it!"

The boy, chastised, charges me, sword raised over his head, leaving his body exposed. I dart to the right, and in one fluid motion, slash open the boys stomach. He makes no noise as he falls to the ground, dead.

I stand there, horrified. Surely he had a mother out there somewhere who would miss him terribly. Not too different from the mother I'd encountered in the forest, who was willing to die to protect her children. If his mother were here, would she have taken my sword?

"Well now," says the leader loudly. "Perhaps we do have a little warrior here after all." The soldiers all look towards him in unison, waiting for orders. He nods once, and they all shift into offensive positions in my peripheral vision.

The part of me that I'm beginning to fear, the part that enjoys the thrill of battle, takes over. I tally them all up quickly. Seven on my left, nine on my right, four ahead, and three behind. Twenty-three in total. I'll have to dart to the left to get away from the nine on my right and the three behind me. I can take out at least four of them before they know I'm there. Which leaves three, as well as the three behind me, who will no doubt have reached my by that point.

One of the soldiers to my right rushes forwards, and I block his attack and slash his side, ending that particular threat.

_Twenty-two,_ I think to myself.

I decide that now is the best chance I'll get, as I can see they're all a little surprised with the ease in which I killed the first soldier, so I strike, darting out to my left and catching one of them in the stomach by surprise. Without waiting for retaliation from the others, I pull my sword out and slash at the next soldier on the left, and cut him down easily. I manage to get three more down before I'm forced to re-position myself. I give myself the opportunity to re-evaluate the battle.

_Eighteen._

Two on my right charge forwards with battle cries. I dispatch them easily by blocking their blows with my sword and slashing back in return. Another rushes forward. He just receives a swift punch to the face, knocking him onto his back, thus allowing me to stab him in the chest.

_Fifteen._

One of them comes up from behind me and manages to give me a decent-sized gash on my arm before I decapitate him. I'm surrounded again though, and this time backed into a corner. The remaining fourteen converge on me, but they make a fatal mistake. They're too grouped together. I reach out with my empty hand and snatch the shaft of the nearest spear and pull with a strength that surprised me. The spear and the soldier holding it were pulled forward, knocking four of the soldiers down as well. By the time I weave my way out of the corner, only seven of them remain.

I'm standing near the fountain in the center of the square wielding both my sword and the spear I'd snatched from the now deceased soldier. I jab out at the nearest soldier with my spear to distract them and take away their chance to regroup. By a lucky chance, the spear actually catches him in the neck and he crumples under my feet. I take the opportunity to count them up again.

_ Six. _

_A lot better than the twenty-two I started with_, I think.

I give them a fierce look and scan their faces. They all look frightened. If I can kill one, maybe two more, the remainder will flee. Somehow I know that these last six won't initiate the assault – they're too afraid – so I lash out with my spear again, blocking a blow from the one on my right with my sword. The spear catches one in the stomach, my sword finds the throat of two others.

I catch my breath and back up. The remaining three all look at their commander, who seems amused, but instructs them to continue. I grin myself, my eyes catching sight of the congealed blood on the back of my hand, and the amount of it on my sword. For a moment, my resolve disappears at the sight of the carnage I've created, but it reappears when one of the soldiers lashes out at me.

I block his clumsy attack and behead him, striking out at the other two, and finish them off.

I stand in the middle of the square, breathing heavily. The red-one stands before me, looking quizzical.

"Interesting," he says quietly. "You know, I think you would make an excellent participant."

And before I can even blink, he zooms forward with a speed my eyes can't even detect, and bashes me over the head with the hilt of his sword.

The pain alone brings me to my knees, and before I lose consciousness, I get a last glimpse of his blood red boots, glinting in the fire light, and hear the sounds of low, rumbling laughter from right above me.


End file.
